“Where did you get these?” he said.
“They were found in a filing cabinet at the library.”
Mac looked at them for a minute, then shook his head. “I told that fool to burn these,” he said.
“Who? Who did you tell to burn them?”
“Clinton Ingram.”
Lillian gasped.
“You told Clinton to burn them? Why?”
Mac looked at Lillian. “To keep her safe.”
My mouth dropped open in shock.
“What did he say?” Mike asked me.
“He said he told Clinton to burn the papers to keep Lillian safe.”
“I don’t understand,” Lillian said. “Why would my husband need to keep me safe?”
Mac looked uncomfortable. I had a feeling the reason was because of Mac’s boss. I thought of something he said the other night. “You said that you thought you recognized someone the night of the murder, Mac. Who was it?”
“I don’t know,” he said, avoiding eye contact.
“You’re lying.”
“Excuse me?”
“Look me in the eye, and tell me that again.”
“Uh oh,” Mike said. “Lying to her is a bad idea, man.”
“I’ll give you three guesses who it was,” I said to Mike, “and the first two don’t count.”
“All right, all right,” Mac said. “I thought I recognized Clinton Ingram.”
“Impossible,” I told him. “Clinton wasn’t here that night.”
“Yes, he was,” Mac insisted. “He was about six feet tall, dark brown hair, and brown eyes. Sounds just like the Clinton I know.”
“You mean the Clinton you knew over fifty years ago,” I said. “Clinton has gray hair, and moves a lot slower now.”
Mike picked up on what we were talking about. “He probably saw Joey or Reed,” he said.
“Probably,” I agreed.
“Joey?” Lillian said. “You mean little Joseph? My son? And who’s Reed?”
“Your son?” Mac said.
“Most people call him Joey nowadays, Lillian. Reed is Joey’s son, your grandson. Clinton was supposed to be here the other night, but at the last minute, Joey and Reed came in his place.” I stopped talking as a horrible thought crossed my mind. I looked at Mike.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Mike said. “Give me a minute. I’ll find out.” He got up, went down the steps, and walked far enough away where no one could hear him.
“I can’t believe my son was here, and I didn’t get to see him,” Lillian said sadly. “Ms. Shaw, what does he look like?”
“Please, call me Cam,” I told her. “Like Mac said, he’s the spitting image of your husband when he was younger.”
She smiled. “Clinton was the most handsome man I knew back then. But I might have been a bit biased.”
“My mother still thinks my dad is the most handsome man around,” I said.
Lillian looked over my shoulder at Mike, who was still on the phone. “I’m sure you think the same thing of your young man.”
“Once in awhile,” I admitted.
“Has my son had a happy life?” Lillian asked me.
“I’m afraid I don’t know your son that well. I imagine he is in mourning right now for his wife, Susan.”
“Is she the woman who was killed here the other night?”
“Yes, she was.”
“Oh dear, how awful. Clinton will understand what he is going through. I’m sure he’ll be able to help him deal with his grief.”
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat as Mike rejoined us. He leaned over and whispered something in my ear. I jerked back and looked at him. “Seriously?”
He nodded. I put my hand over my mouth. “Dear Lord.”
“What’s wrong?” Lillian said.
Mike and I looked at each other. “I’m not sure how to tell you this,” Mike said.
“Tell me what?”
“She wants to know,” I told him. “Go ahead.”
“Your husband and son haven’t been seen since the night of the murder,” he began. “I’ve tried for three days to locate them. Yesterday morning, your grandson, Reed, went by the house to talk to Clinton and...”
“What?” she said, her eyes wide with fear.
“He found me.”
“Holy crap,” I muttered as Lillian turned around.
“What’s going on?” Mike asked.
“Clinton Ingram just showed up.”
Chapter 24
We sat there quietly as Lillian and Clinton were reunited. He didn’t look like the old man that I knew, but a younger version of himself. Lillian was right; Clinton had been a very handsome man in his younger days.
“Wait a minute,” Mike said. “I’m a little confused here. Lillian and Mac both knew that Susan was dead, but how come they didn’t know Clinton was dead? He died the same day Susan did.”
“Where have you been?” I asked Clinton.
“At the house,” he replied. “I tried to leave several times but couldn’t. When Reed showed up, and then all those cops, I tried talking to them. None of them could hear me. I think it was when they took my body from the house that I realized something was wrong. But then it started to sink in. That’s when I thought of Lillian, and here I am.”
Mac didn’t appear very happy by this turn of events. I had a feeling that he was hoping to have Lillian all to himself.
“What’s going on?” Mike asked me.
“Well, Lillian and Clinton are giggling like a couple of newlyweds, and can’t keep their hands off each other. Mac is sulking.”
“Sounds like he’s jealous,” Mike chuckled.
“I think you’re right.”
“I am not jealous,” Mac snapped.
“He denies he’s jealous.”
“I didn’t know a ghost could get jealous,” Mike said.
“Apparently they can.”
Mac flipped me off.
“Well, now that was downright rude,” I told him. “I can guess where you learned that from.”
“What did he do?”
“He gave me the bird.”
“Did they know how to do that back then?”
“Apparently so.”
Lillian and Clinton came over and sat down on the couch. “Clinton, I guess you know Cam Shaw and Chief Penhall.”
“Yes, I do,” he said. “It’s good to see you, although it’s a bit weird being seen this way.”
“I’m the only one who can see or hear you, Mr. Ingram,” I said. “Mike can’t.”
“When all that craziness happened with the Ashtons, I heard rumors that you had the ability to communicate with ghosts, but I didn’t believe it.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not something I go around advertising,” I said.
“Don’t blame you,” he replied.
“Is this who you saw the other night?” I asked Mac.
Clinton looked over at Mac as if he was seeing him for the first time. “What the hell are you doing here?” he said angrily.
“Same as you,” he said. “Dead as a doornail.”
Jumping to his feet, Clinton grabbed Mac by the lapels of his suit jacket and hauled him to his feet. “You’re the reason my wife was murdered,” he said, shaking him.
“I had nothing to do with that!” Mac exclaimed. “I wasn’t here when it happened.”
“Like I believe that.”
“What’s going on?” Mike said. “The stage is all red.”
He was right. There were waves of anger coming off both Mac and Clinton. The pressure in my head started to increase. I got up, knocking over my chair, and stumbled down the steps. I felt my way along the wall in the darkness, trying to get away from the waves of emotions. I made it outside, and the headache subsided.
“Cam?” Mike said from behind me. “Are you all right?”
“There’s a lot of emotion flowing in there. I can’t handle it.”
“Is this what happened to you yesterday?”
�
�Yes, but not as intense as now.”
Mike pulled out his phone, turned on his flashlight app, and went out to his truck. He came back with a bottle of water. “Here, drink this.”
I took it from him and drank half of it.
“Better?”
“Some.”
“Think you can go back inside?”
“I’ll try.”
He wrapped his arm around my waist, and helped me as we made our way back to our seats. Lillian watched us as we sat down. Mac and Clinton were no longer pushing and shoving each other, but the waves of anger were still pretty strong.
“All right, listen up, people,” Mike said, turning off his flashlight app and shoving his phone into his back pocket. “She can’t handle your emotions. It’s too much for her. If you two want to have a knockdown, drag out fight, if that’s even possible, then do it after we’re gone. Right now, we need answers, and you’re going to give them to us. If you can’t do that, then leave.”
Mac and Clinton looked at each other, and the red glows slowly faded to light blue. “Thank you,” I told them.
“What is it you want to know?” Lillian asked.
“Clinton, do you know if Joey is having any money problems?”
“Joey is always having money problems,” Clinton retorted. “This is nothing new. I bailed him out for years.”
“Do you think this is why he was trying to take over your company?”
“It wouldn’t surprise me one bit, but I don’t know that for sure.”
“There are some papers on the coffee table,” I said. “What can you tell me about them?”
“What papers?” Clinton said.
“Those on the coffee table.”
Clinton leaned over and looked at them. “Those are the manifest papers for the start of my construction company. Where did you get them?”
“The library.”
“How did they get there?”
“I put them there,” Lillian said.
“What?” Clinton said, shocked. “Why?”
“Because I didn’t like the people you were working with,” she said, glancing at Mac. “You were in over your head.”
“You had no right to interfere, Lillian.”
“I had every right, Clinton,” she replied. “You weren’t home half the time. You didn’t know about the phone calls, the threats, and people driving by the house. I was scared for myself and little Joey.”
“So why did you put the papers in the library?” I asked her after I told Mike what she had said.
“Actually, I gave them to a dear friend for safekeeping. My guess is she put them in there.”
“Who?”
“Alma Dreyer.”
I gasped. “You gave them to my grandmother?”
“You’re Alma’s granddaughter?”
I nodded. “Didn’t you see me sitting with her the other night?”
“No, I didn’t. How is she?”
“She just eloped with Mike’s grandfather.”
Lillian laughed, and a bright yellow glow appeared around her. “She’s still as wild as ever, I see.”
Clinton looked at Mac. “Were you threatening my wife and son?”
He shook his head as Lillian’s yellow glow dimmed. “No, it wasn’t me. It was probably the people in Vegas.”
“I should have never agreed to go into business with you,” Clinton said, shaking his head.
“Why did you go into business with Mac?”
“He was the friend of a friend,” he replied. “He could get his hands on the start-up money that I needed after my father turned me down.”
“Mac, how did you get a hold of the money?” I said, looking at him.
Mac crossed his arms and didn’t answer.
“It was mob money, wasn’t it?”
He shrugged.
“You went into business with the mob, Clinton?” Lillian gasped. “Oh my goodness.”
“I did it so we wouldn’t have to depend on my father, Lillian,” he answer, grabbing her hand. “I didn’t want to work in the oilfield business with him. That was his dream, not mine.”
“But taking money from the mob, Clinton. What were you thinking?”
“I don’t know,” he said, letting go of her hand and leaning back against the couch.
As I told Mike what was being said, I kept an eye on Mac. He was watching the Ingrams with a jealous gleam in his eye. Something suddenly clicked into place. “You,” I said, pointing at Mac, “you weren’t on the fringes of the mob, were you?”
“Of course I was,” he said.
“I don’t think so,” I replied, shaking my head. “I think you were much more important than that.”
“You told them you were on the outside looking in?” Clinton said incredulously.
“Yes, he did,” I told him.
He started laughing. “You lying son of a…”
“What’s he lying about?”
“He was part of the inner circle. He controlled the money! The only way he would loan me the money was if I made him vice president of the company.”
“Mac was the money man,” I told Mike. “He lent the money to Clinton on the condition he made him part of the company.”
“So he could launder his dirty money through a clean company,” Mike said.
“Unbelievable,” I said. “And here you led me to believe that you were some poor victim in all this.”
“Oh, he was,” Clinton said. “Tell her why, Mac.”
Mac didn’t answer.
“All right, I’ll tell her. He got greedy. Started taking a cut of the clean money and hiding it in a separate account that his boss didn’t know about.”
I told Mike. “So you really were a dirty rat, to quote James Cagney,” I said to Mac.
“Great actor,” Mac replied.
I rolled my eyes. “Is what Clinton said true?”
“What does it matter?” Mac said. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you it was all a lie.”
“A lie?” Clinton said. “I certainly wouldn’t believe you.”
“Who told you that story, Ingram?” Mac demanded.
“One of your cronies.”
“I bet I can guess who,” Mac snorted. “Was it Brennan?”
“That was the name on the letter I received. He told me that you were not who you claimed to be, and that I should be careful about trusting you. But how did you know?”
“Because Brennan was always a lying jerk,” Mac said. “He wanted to be part of the inner circle so much, that he’d do whatever he had to in order to get there. I’m not the only one he stabbed in the back.”
I updated Mike again. “Is there any way to check on this stuff they’re telling us? Do you know who this Brennan guy is?” I asked him.
“Maybe. I have a friend who is a big history buff, especially when it comes to the mob,” he said. “I can make a call.”
“I think that would be a good idea,” I told him, rubbing my temples.
“Head hurting again?”
“Just a little. I’m fine.”
“Drink more of your water,” he said. “I have a question for Clinton. Do you know what happened to you?”
“I’m not really sure,” he said.
I shook my head at Mike. “What’s the last thing you remember?” I asked him.
“I was talking to someone on the phone, then I felt this sharp pain in my back, and I fell on the floor. The room just seemed to fade after that.”
“So you have no idea who it was?”
He shook his head.
“He was on the phone, then he was stabbed in the back. That’s all he remembers,” I told Mike.
“Oh wait, there was one thing,” Clinton said. “I saw a pair of black and white shoes.”
Chapter 25
I couldn’t take any more after that statement. I shoved the papers back into my messenger bag. “We’ve got to go,” I told Mike.
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Let’s just go
.”
“Cam, what’s wrong?” Lillian asked.
“Not a thing,” I assured her. “I just need to get home and check on my dog.” I leaned over, grabbed Mike’s big flashlight that he had put on the coffee table, and left.
Mike caught up to me at the back door. “You don’t have a dog,” he said as we walked out. He shut the door and made sure it was locked.
I didn’t answer him, just kept walking to the truck.
“Cam, stop,” Mike said, grabbing my arm and spinning me around. “What’s going on?”
“I just want to go home.”
“What did Clinton say that upset you so much? You’re shaking.”
“Could we not talk about this here? I don’t want to be a sitting duck for another attack.”
“All right,” he said, unlocking his truck with his key fob.
We didn’t say anything all the way back to my house. I was too freaked out by what Clinton had said.
When he parked in my driveway, I jumped out of the truck, searching the side pockets of my bag for my keys. Opening the front door, I turned off the alarm, dumped my bag by the recliner, went straight to the fridge, and pulled out a Dr Pepper.
Mike came in behind me, closed the door, and stood in the kitchen doorway, watching me. “Are you going to tell me what has you so upset?”
I put my drink on the counter and rubbed my eyes. “Clinton said there was one thing that he remembered just before he died. He saw a pair of black and white shoes.”
“Okay, so?”
“When I was attacked the other day, the last thing I saw before I passed out was a pair of black and white shoes.”
“You didn’t mention anything about that to me.”
“I didn’t remember it until now!”
He walked over to me and pulled me close. “I don’t blame you for being upset,” he said.
“That’s a mild understatement,” I muttered.
“Do you remember anything else?”
I shook my head. “Just the shoes.”
Mike stepped away, took a bottle of water from the fridge, and took a drink. “I don’t like coincidences,” he said. “Those shoes showing up at two different crime scenes…”
Who Invited the Ghost to Dinner: A Ghost Writer Mystery Page 19
